


How Do I Know?

by hrrybb



Series: I wanna carry all of your children [2]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Engagement, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Intended Blowjob, Kidfic Verse, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrrybb/pseuds/hrrybb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reckons he could do this forever. He can’t think of a single thing he’d rather do than just be with Harry. It doesn’t even matter what they’re doing. Getting off, going for coffee, whatever. It’s never mattered to him, as long as he’s with Harry. </p><p>Forever, he thinks, sucking a greedy bruise into Harry’s hip as his drunk mind chews the word thoughtfully. Forever. And then it hits him. That’s it.</p><p> </p><p>Basically, Nick and Harry get engaged in a club toilet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do I Know?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is a very fake continuation (prequel?) in the verse of "Clover & Gucci".  
> Kidfic has taken over my entire life. No exaggeration. I've written countless little fics in this verse. Since this one takes place about two years before my previous fic in this verse, I clearly won't be posting everything in order. But I do expect to post more of this.  
> I've enjoyed writing little tidbits in different times so hopefully you'll enjoy connecting the verse together by reading along. Each fic has the date which is takes place at the top, if that helps any.
> 
> I'd like to send a big thank you to A, July, Tahn and also Erin. For editing, being super supportive, and reading my countless messages at odd hours about me screaming (crying) about babies and sending pictures of baby clothes etc. 
> 
> Again this is super fake, so enjoy.

FEBRUARY 2018

Nick doesn’t exactly know how he got here, to this point in his life. He’s drunk and dressed in his best trousers at fancy club in Ibiza. He’s got a frilly, metallic party hat on his head and an equally wasted Harry Styles rubbing against his hip as they dance. He’s really not quite sure where the hat came from.

Pixie’s beside him, one arm clasped around Nick’s bicep, the other thrown over George’s shoulder. It’s really odd, the way she’s been so tactile all night. Nick doesn’t mind though, when it feels like there’s one hundred people touching him. Aimee’s shoulder is digging into his back every once and a while and Daisy’s hair is flipping into his face from her stance on the other side of Harry.

He loves this, getting lost in the feeling of being at the club. Just forgetting everything other than the bodies around him and the beat hitting his bones. He loves his friends and this island and his life. He’s teetering on being the most drunk he’s been in his thirties, so he might not believe any of that tomorrow, but for now it feels right.

They’re on the island for no particular reason, other than that they all deserved a damn holiday and mostly everyone had the time. He’d woken up this afternoon from a post-shag nap with Harry to the sound of Aimee blending enough margaritas for an army of people in the kitchen. They’d drank them next to their villa’s private pool before getting even more sloshed over a dinner of fancy Greek kebabs and white wine. Afterwards, everyone had decided to go out and dress up just for the hell of it. The last thing he properly remembers was taking a shot of tequila with Harry before getting into the cab.

Everything seems to come back to Harry, especially with the way he’s practically straddling Nick’s thigh and sucking marks under his jaw. He’s got a hand on Nick’s chest, fingers dipping below the fabric of his shirt. Harry’s got a hat, too. It’s hot pink and the strap is cutting a line into the side of his face. He’s also got a £300 bowtie that looks like a strangled flamingo and flashy purple boots to match. It’s like a theme. It’s cute. The tip of the hat pokes Nick in the side of the face as Harry dips to mouth along his sweaty collarbone.

It makes Nick’s insides stir, his chest feeling giddy and tight like it does multiple times a day when he’s with Harry. But he’s always with Harry now, and this feels a bit different. He digs a finger under Harry’s tie and pulls him up for a kiss. Harry starts making mock-choking noises when he pulls away. “Shut up,” Nick tells him, swatting his chest. “I love you.”

Harry looks him in the eye, face going soft like it does every time Nick tells him that. It makes him want to say it again, so he does. Nick shouts it, even. They’re past caring. He’s drunk and he loves Harry.

Harry’s mouth comes to his ear, his teeth grazing the lobe as he repeats it back. “I love you too,” he promises, running a hand up Nick’s back. It makes him shiver in his sweaty silk shirt.

Something about the way he says it also makes Nick immediately yank him away from the dance floor, pulling out of Pixie’s grasp. He spots a dark corner tucked behind one of the bars and promptly shoves Harry into it. He feels overwhelmed; thinking of a hundred and one things he’d like to do as he noses along Harry’s cheek, breathing him in. Nick’s inebriated brain ends up only being able to muster the strength to snog him for now. They’ve both had about three too many vodkas, and it’s all Nick can taste.

It’s the hint of lime when Harry deepens the kiss that makes Nick laugh into his mouth. He’d had to tear Harry away from the bar earlier, where he’d found him silently snacking on the bowl of limes, sucking out all the juice and leaving the rinds on the counter.

“You taste like lime,” Nick tells him, kissing up the side of his face.

“Ooh, I love limes!” Harry replies like he’s forgotten.

“I love you,” he repeats for the thousandth time.

Maybe it really is the thousandth time. It makes Nick wonder, how many times he’s ever told Harry he loves him. It took him a long fucking time to say it, but since he’s started, he’s never wanted to stop.

He remembers the first time Harry said it, clear as day. They’d had their first Big Fight, over the fact that Harry had ordered them takeaway while Nick was in the shower. He’d ordered an Indian dish with lamb that Nick absolutely despised, so obviously Nick had tried to break up with him for it. He was always doing that back then, trying to get Harry to leave him.

He had said that they couldn’t properly be together if Harry was away too much to know which takeaway he liked most. It had ended in Harry crying. Like, full on _sobbing_. He had thrown a couch cushion and a plastic fork at Nick’s head, called him an arse through his tears.

“Please, Nick,” he’d sniffled, squeezing a hand around Nick’s knee. It had killed him to see Harry like that, but he had wanted to make him realize that he was better off without Nick. “Don’t make me leave. Don’t.”

“Harry,” he had sighed, picking the hand off his leg. “I don’t want to be this burden you feel like you have to come back to.”

At that, Harry had just dissolved into another fresh round of tears. “You - you’re not a burden, Nick,” he had choked out. “I - I’m in love with you. I love you.”

Nick had just sat there, stunned. He’d never expected that. He hadn’t understood how Harry Styles, sweet and famous Harry with the world at his fingertips, could love _him_. Once those words had left Harry’s mouth, he also hadn’t known how to turn him away.

A bite to his neck brings Nick back to the present as Harry’s mouth latches onto his throat again. Nick realizes that he could never turn him away. It makes his heart hurt, suddenly. His mind swims in mournful thoughts of life without Harry, even as he stays happily pinned beneath Nick.

He wraps his arms around Harry’s ribs and squeezes as tight as he can manage, a drunken attempt at keeping him close. Harry squeaks out a breath against his neck. “Stop choking me!” He laughs, bringing his head up. “Wait until we get home, at least.”

Nick rolls his eyes at the cheeky smile Harry gives him. “I love you.”

“You’ve said,” Harry rolls his eyes back and leans in to peck him on the lips.It’s not enough and Nick chases his mouth as he pulls back.

“No,” Nick whines, pushing Harry’s further into the wall, kissing him hard. It’s better, but still doesn’t feel like enough. His heart beats heavy, uncomfortable. He reaches to give a nice, promising squeeze to Harry’s fat dick tucked into his jeans, and pulls him along to find the bathroom.

“Wher’we going?” Harry asks in his ear.

Nick swivels to look at him. “Th’ loo.” When Harry meets his eyes, he feels his face do a wobbly thing that makes him thankful that the club is so dark.

He stumbles along the edge of the room, Harry trailing behind him with their hands linked. Nick hasn’t found a single thing in this world that a dick in his mouth can’t fix, at least temporarily. Except maybe debt, or his car being out of petrol. Alright, maybe a blowjob can only fix _some_ things, but he has high hopes that getting off with Harry will cure the twisting in his chest.

In his haste to get there, he walks right past the hallway he’d seen Pixie and Aimee teetering down earlier and backtracks, almost slamming into Harry.

“C’mere,” Nick encourages like he wasn’t already being followed and reaches a hand out to snap the strap of the party hat against Harry’s cheek.

“Oww,” Harry mutters. When he tries to retaliate, Nick smacks his hand away with a smile and pulls him to the end of the hall.

Despite having had his fair share of muffled bathroom sex, Nick’s brain still gives an empty hope that the restroom will be cleared out as he pushes at the swinging door. Inside, there’s a bloke in a disgusting, but definitely designer floral suit snorting coke off a sink and another man just finishing at the urinal.

The guy at the sink straightens up, sniffs hard and doesn’t make eye contact as he brushes past them.

Nick turns to look at Harry, but before he can even focus his eyes, Harry swarms towards him. In a matter of seconds, he’s getting pushed through a stall door; Harry’s mouth is on his and his fingers have to grapple behind Harry’s back to fumble the lock shut.

Harry moans against his tongue as Nick grabs at his satin shirt, untucking it from his skinny jeans. The sound goes straight to Nick’s dick, but his chest feels the same.

Nick pets his way up Harry’s stomach before raking his fingers down through the trail of hair leading to his flies. He can feel Harry reaching up with both hands to snap the strap off Nick’s metallic hat, right above his ear.

Leaning back to let Harry knock the hat away, he holds tight to Harry’s belt. “Dead manly, you are,” he taunts, biting back a fond smile. He thinks that might describe what’s happening inside his chest, a complete overload of fond.

Harry just licks his lips before diving to mouth along Nick’s jaw. He knowingly gets at all the right places that make Nick’s knees go weak.

Nick can’t figure out what’s going on inside him. It doesn’t feel painful, but he hopes he’s not having a heart attack. It’s kind of a familiar feeling almost, like the way his heart and lungs squeezed shut for a minute the first time he held Arlo as a baby. Or that first time Harry admitted he loved him, for real.

Nick catches his lips once more in a desperate, hot kiss before dropping to his knees. He slides his hands up Harry’s belly again, taking his time to appreciate it. It takes his vodka-logged brain a second to catch up to the fact that a toilet cubicle is not exactly the place to worship Harry’s body.

He wants to though. He wants to worship every damn thing about Harry, and has to remind himself never to repeat that out loud. It sounds alright in his head though, the idea of taking his time to appreciate everything. He loves Harry, from the tips of his tattooed toes to the ends of his stupidly sexy hair. Everything in between too. Especially the bits in between.

Nick leans in to lick a stripe right above the waistband of Harry’s pants. It elicits a strangled moan from above him and he gets bumped in the chin as Harry’s hips come forward blindly.

He reckons he could do this _forever_. He can’t think of a single thing he’d rather do than just be with Harry. It doesn’t even matter what they’re doing. Getting off, going for coffee, whatever. It’s never mattered to him, as long as he’s with Harry.

 _Forever_ , he thinks, sucking a greedy bruise into Harry’s hip as his drunk mind chews the word thoughtfully. _Forever_. And then it hits him. That’s it.

“Wait.” Nick stops, fingers tucked into Harry’s jeans behind his belt.

“No, don’t wait. C’mon Nick,” Harry whines, hands reaching to help undo his flies.

“No, Harry. Wait,” Nick says again, trying to make his voice stern. He looks up to see Harry giving him a puzzled look that’s made his brow crease and he quickly has to press his face back into Harry’s stomach to hide his smile.

He needs to marry him. _God_ , his stomach immediately aches with the intense need of it. They could share their whole life together if Harry just says the word. The feeling in his chest from before feels ramped up, his heart beating faster every second. He thinks the circulation around his knees might be getting cut off by his tight trousers, but he hardly cares. He blows a happy breath onto one of Harry’s ferns.

“What are you doing?” Harry hisses. His fingers come to card through Nick’s long destroyed hair. He has to tug on it to make Nick look up.

“I love you,” Nick tells him again, and it really does feel like the thousandth time. He’s sure of it now. “I love you. You have to know that,” his voice quivers embarrassingly.

Harry sighs in reply, his hands coming to Nick’s, still hanging off his trousers. “Nick. What the hell? You - you’re not, like, dying? Are you?” He asks, jumping to conclusions. His fingers tighten around Nick’s wrists and his head falls against the cubicle wall. He lets out a ragged, destroyed breath.

“No. No, no. God, no. Harry, I’m not fucking _dying_.” Nick barks out a laugh. They’re both being such idiots. He’s on his knees in a public washroom and Harry’s just asked if he’s dying. Shaking his head, he struggles to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Harry repeats. He grabs Nick gently by the chin when he won’t look him directly in the eyes. “You scared me.”

“Do you love me?” He has to ask. He has to. He knows the answer, but he needs to hear it.

Harry laughs quietly, stroking across his jaw with his thumb. His other hand is still holding onto Nick’s wrist, and he slides it down to entwine their fingers. “Yes, you dickhead. I absolutely love you.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Nick can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. His eyes practically shut with the force of his grin, the skin around them crinkling. Harry smiles back just the same, like it’s contagious and Nick has to lean forward to press his lips to Harry’s so that his cheeks will stop hurting for a moment. Harry’s hand slips around the back of his neck as he tries to deepen the kiss.

“Wait,” Nick says again, mumbling against his lips. He presses his hand to Harry’s chest to keep space between them.

“ _God_ , Nick,” Harry groans, shoving a hand through his own hair, knocking the pink party hat back. He grunts again as he struggles to take it off his head, just holds it in his hand. “You’re torturing me.”

When he tries to reply, Nick’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t know how to say it. He was so sure of himself a minute ago and now he can’t get the words out. He opens his mouth but his tongue just flops uselessly. Closing his mouth, he blinks and tries again. Nothing. He blames all the alcohol.

Harry’s here. Harry’s here and right in front of him and he’s just told Nick that he loves him and he _still_ can’t say it. He’s looking at Nick blankly, patient and drunk. Nick just squeezes his grip on Harry’s hand and offers a weak smile.

“I,” he tries, just to say something. God, he feels like he’s going to cry. Another thing he’s going to blame the booze for and not the fact that he’s about to ask Harry to spend the rest of his life with him.

“Nick,” Harry says, his voice calm now.

Nick just has too many things he wants to say. He hadn’t had time to properly think this out, make a script or whatever. “I have a lot of things to say.”

Harry groans and rolls his eyes. “Now is really not the time.” He brings their hands back to rest on his belt, reminding Nick of the task they came in here to start.

“Yes. Now is the time.” He looks around the stall, stalling. Ha. He looks at the porcelain toilet, the stainless steel cubicle walls, the white subway tiles against the wall. This is it. This is where he’s going to propose. “Shit, I should -.” He cuts himself off, scrambling back down to kneel in front of Harry.

“Yes!” Harry cheers quietly, hand immediately going back to Nick’s hair, pulling him in.

“No, fuck. Harry stop.” He fights Harry’s grip, looking up. “I - this. Well,” he flaps his hand around, like it’ll explain for him. “I love you. Like I’ve said about a million times.” He laughs awkwardly and feels sweat prickling on the back of his neck. “Vodka, right?”

Harry keeps looking down on him with his happy, tired stare.

Nick takes a deep breath. “I love you for a lot of reasons, Haz. I love your stupid flamingo bowtie, even though I begged you not to buy it. I love your stupid hair, I even love it when sometimes you ask me to comb it when you get out of the shower because you think I’m better at getting the tangles out. I love all your stupid tattoos, even that shit pingu one. I love all that stuff because it’s you.”

“Stop calling me stupid,” Harry whispers, his voice catching like he’s about to hiccup. Nick hopes that he understands what’s happening. A tiny part of him wishes he didn’t have to say anything, that Harry would just know to marry him.

He grabs Harry’s left hand, knocking the paper hat off his wrist. He watches it fall into a spilled drink on the floor before turning back. “You’re everything I need, Harry. God that sounds so lame, but it’s true. You’re everything to me, okay?”

Harry just nods dumbly down at him, soaking it in. Nick’s definitely kneeling in bit of that wet spot, but he needs to finish. “You’re kind and loving and all sorts of great stuff - god. I shouldn’t - I’ve had so many drinks. I hope you’re getting the point. I can’t stand not being around you, basically. I miss you, when you’re not in my bed. I know it’s - it’s not as bad now that you’re not touring. I still crave your attention though, all the time. Wow - I’m just fucking baring it _all_ , aren’t I?” He laughs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck Harry, I’m the best I’ve ever felt when I’m with you. You’re the most important thing in my life. All I ever want is you.”

Nick shuffles around, bringing his foot up so that he’s on one knee. He feels distinctly more sober, after that. He needs a shot, hopes it’ll be a celebratory one.

“What I’m trying to say, I guess.” His knee is starting to hurt so he adjusts himself again. “Is that, I really can’t imagine my life without you. We’ve been doing _this_ ,” he says, gesturing between them both, Harry backed against the wall with his shirt untucked and Nick equally disheveled on his knees. “More or less, I guess. For like, fuck. Six years?”

“Yeah, god,” Harry agrees, finally saying something. He sniffles loudly and wipes his wrist under his nose. It’s just then that Nick realizes he’s started crying.

“Do you - do you get what I’m trying to say? _Please_ , Harry. Will you marry me?” He asks finally. He blinks openly up at Harry, waiting. His heart feels on the verge of something new, like he’s given Harry the ability to shatter it completely or make his biggest dream come true.

“Yes, yeah, yes,” Harry chokes out, squeezing Nick’s fingers with all his might. Nick barely notices since his entire body has gone numb with joy. He feels tears slipping their way down his cheeks, clouding his vision. “ _Yes_ , Nick. Bloody ge’up here!” He slurs through his own tears, pulling Nick up roughly.

Harry drags him in for a kiss. Both their faces are wet from crying and there’s definitely a bit of snot on Harry’s upper lip, but Nick thinks it might be one of the best kisses he’s ever had. He slings his arm around Harry’s neck and presses him into the wall with fervour. Pinning him against it with his weight, their teeth clack as they come together again.

It’s not exactly perfect, but it’s him and Harry. They’re going to be _married_ because Harry said _yes_. Nick can hardly believe it.

“Fuck, wait!” Nick pulls back suddenly and wipes his cheeks.

“Not again,” Harry moans. “I’ll marry you, alright? I want to marry you! Please. Marry me!” He shifts a leg between Nick’s and bucks his hips up weakly.

“No. Well, fuck. Yes. We’re getting married! I just - I don’t have a ring?” Nick admits quietly, looking down at their linked hands with a frown. It’s not like Harry’s hand is void of rings, at any rate. He’s got that (stupid) one with the teddy bears on that he’s had since forever and a new one with a big purple gem on it. Nick’s favourite finger now, though, is bare. He moves to take Harry’s left hand in both of his, smoothing his fingers across the back. He brings it to his lips, kisses where Harry’s ring finger meets his palm.

“It doesn’t matter. We can get one later.”

Nick looks at him, completely appalled. “Excuse me, Harold. It matters, very much. A lot.” He takes his own ring finger and wraps it awkwardly around where a wedding band would sit. It’s like a pinky promise, but better. “There,” he says, and kisses where their fingers meet. “For now.”

“For now,” Harry agrees.

When Nick meets Harry’s eyes above their hands, they’re bright and wide and full of not only tears, but something Nick reckons is love. He imagines his own look much the same and he can’t help but to surge forward for another kiss.

“Let’s go tell the others!” Harry pants after a minute. His mouth is wet and a little swollen from kissing, which just makes Nick want to kiss it more. He does so, and it becomes Harry’s turn to protest. “C’mon! I love you. We’re getting married!”

Nick smiles again, his stomach flipping happily. He stares at Harry for a moment, watches as his eyes well up again. “I love you so much.”

It takes them another while to leave because they can’t stop kissing each other and crying. It’s like a clinging disease Nick never wants to get rid of as Harry keeps pressing him into the walls as they stumble down the hallway.

Finally, they reach the dancefloor. Stepping out into public again makes Nick feel even funnier. Everything comes into focus. He’s _engaged_.

His friends are still across the room, somewhere. He hopes. Good lord, he really hopes they haven’t left him alone in a foreign country wearing his most expensive boots and a washed up popstar on his arm. He’s not even sure how to get home.

His fear of being left in Ibiza to die (though it very well may be his rightful resting place) subsides when he spots Henry jumping along with a strange group of girls about ten metres away, drink in the air. He’s wearing a ridiculous headband with the number 21 emblazoned on it.

“I don’t know anyone who’s twenty-one,” Nick tells Harry, shouting in his face.

“I’m twenty-four,” Harry yells back unhelpfully. He leans in and sticks his tongue in Nick’s ear.

“You’re disgusting, is what you are,” Nick scoffs, shouldering him away.

“Your disgusting _fiance_ ,” he chirps and moves to push Nick through the crowd.

Nick spots Aimee sitting across from George and Pixie on a massive couch beyond Henry’s headband and he heads straight for them, his heart pounding.

“Hiya!” He waves just as they shout a chorus of “there you are!”. Harry lets go of Nick’s hand and scoots in on the other side of Aimee. Nick catches him wiping his eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been? Why’s he crying?” Aimee asks, poking Nick’s thigh angrily. “Did you elbow him in the face again?”

“No!” Nick laughs, pushing her hands away.

“Suck his dick so good he cried about it then?” Aimee asks, a sly grin creeping across her face.

“No! God! Shh.” He feels drunk again, but calmer now. He beckons Aimee closer with his finger and looks over her shoulder to see Harry staring happily at the ceiling. A light flashes over the couch and Nick sees a lovebite blooming just below his ear. He flicks his eyes back to Aimee, who’s staring at him meanly with a straw in her mouth. He manipulates his voice into a stage whisper. “I asked him to marry me, silly.” It comes out easy as anything.

It’s comical really, watching Aimee’s reaction. Her painted eyebrows shoot up, and she chokes on her drink. “You _WHAT_?” she shrieks, coughing. She reaches for Nick’s arm and digs her stiletto nails into his skin. “You fucking _what_?”

Pixie and George both catch Aimee’s screams above the music. “What, what?” Pixie yells, scooching to the end of her seat. “Why are we screaming?”

“Nick. Nick - he. Nick just -” Aimee stammers, her eyes wide like she’s reliving a vivid dream.

“I asked Harry to marry me!” Nick shouts, wishing he had a drink to thrust into the air to make more of a flourish.

“You did not!” Pixie squeals. George’s face lights up and he reaches to pet down Pixie’s back right before she launches herself across the space at Harry. “Oh my god! What a bloody fuckin’ miracle!” She climbs into his lap and kisses his drying face.

“Nick, I can’t believe you,” Aimee tells him, her hand still wrapped around his forearm. She tips her head back to chug the remains of her drink. “I always - I thought it was gonna be him. Always.”

Nick wonders if they’ve taken bets on their relationship. He thinks they most definitely have, if their reactions are anything to go by.

A set of smooth arms come to wrap around his shoulders and he gets a whiff of Daisy’s perfume as she kisses his ear from behind. “What’s up with Pix?” She drawls, smiling into the side of his face. Nick loves drunk Daisy. She’s even more pleasant and fun after a few tequilas.

“Nick’s just asked Harry to _marry_ him!” Aimee supplies for him, digging around in her purse. Probably for a cigarette or a bludgeon for not speaking to her about it first.

Daisy smacks a giant kiss to Nick’s cheek and squeezes his shoulder. “Congratulations, babe,” she says like she’s not surprised, like she expected it. Fuck his friends.

“Pix, stop snogging my fiance!” Nick yells across the couch, beaming. Aimee screams again from beside him and swivels to snap a picture of Pixie’s tongue down Harry’s throat.

“Shots! Let’s get some shots!” Pixie shouts as she scrambles off of Harry. Nick watches her pull George across the dancefloor to the nearest bar, grabbing Henry and pointing back at them along the way.

Nick looks back to see Harry staring at him with a wide, absolutely giddy smile plastered on his face. Aimee’s looking back and forth between them, feigning disgust. “I am not going to be in the middle of this,” she announces and promptly moves to the other couch, but keeps her phone out.

It leaves a bit of room between them that Harry quickly closes, drunkenly crawling along the vinyl to position himself on Nick’s lap. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, smiling up at Harry. His hair is long and damp with sweat and his bowtie is a little crooked but he looks so happy Nick could combust.

“I love you,” Harry shouts at him. “I’ve always thought about this,” he admits, putting a hand on both sides of Nick’s face before leaning down. They can’t help it if it quickly turns into a heated snog.

Nick could almost die. It _hurts_ , thinking that Harry might love him as much as he loves Harry. It’s this amazing thing that, for the longest time, he thought he would never have. When he was a kid, he wished for it, tried to find it in uni, fucked it up too many times in his twenties and pretended it didn’t matter. Even when him and Harry started out, he tricked himself into thinking he didn’t fancy Harry has much as he did. He made himself pretend he wasn’t emotional and desperate about it when Harry went away and that shagging other people felt just the same as fucking Harry.

And now he gets to live it and breathe it and everything just feels _right_. He’s got Harry above him and behind him and with him forever now. Nick doesn’t think he’s ever felt _so much_. He pulls Harry further into the kiss just as a remix of an old Florence song comes on. He can’t wait to tell her, to tell everyone back home. Jesus Christ, he’s going to have to tell his parents. Nick squeezes his eyes tighter and makes himself focus on the way Harry’s sucking on his tongue to forget any thought of telling his family.

He lets himself become lost in everything Harry. The weight of him across his thighs, the hand slipping under the collar of his shirt, Harry's sweaty hairs tickling his forehead, his plush lips basically sucking out all of Nick’s soul. It’s alright though, he’s happy to give it to him.

His mind wanders to thoughts of the future. _Their_ future. His everyday life with Harry in it, maybe with babies in it. God, he wants that. He wants it all, now that he’s got a taste. He wants a party, bigger than his thirtieth, a fancy cake and a wicked honeymoon and petty arguments with Harry over how many bedrooms their new house needs, ultrasounds on the fridge and paint chips and a little friend for Pig and a whole life together.

Nick wants it all so badly, lets Harry know with the press of his fingers on his neck and the incessant way they’re kissing. He can’t bring himself to stop until a hand on his hair yanks him backwards and forces them apart.

“Shots for the newlyweds!” Pixie screams.

Henry’s above them, behind the couch with a whole tray of bright red shot glasses and a funny, secret smile.

“We’re not married yet, Pep,” Harry slurs dreamily, his hand still stroking across Nick’s shoulder under his shirt.

“Good as,” Henry laughs, handing out shots.

“Let us not forget the time Nick cried for a full hour and a half at my _own_ fucking wedding because he wished it was him and Haz. Good lord, hand me a shot,” Aimee yells, flicking Nick in the temple as she reaches for the tray.

Nick groans and reaches his own hand up for a drink. He never told Harry about that - he’d been away on tour and Nick had sworn everyone at the venue to secrecy. It had held apparently, until now. “To Aimee’s death,” Nick cheers, pushing his tiny glass a millimetre into the air so as not to spill. It earns him a shove from Harry, who’s still straddling him with a drink in his own hand. Half the drink sloshes from his glass, staining Harry’s jeans.

“Be serious, Nick. To Aimee crying at _our_ wedding because she loves us so damn much!” Harry lets out a wild shout and Nick takes the cue to down his shot. He lets it roll carelessly onto the vinyl chesterfield as he throws both arms around Harry’s neck, snogging the cinnamon taste out of his mouth as more cheers fly up around them.

He doesn’t think he’ll regret any of this tomorrow.


End file.
